


Moonlight Song

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8695546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "Pale streaks of light wash across the dark sky, threads of silver-white, and he can feel it calling to him, a phantom song in the back of his mind, running through his veins and singing in his heart."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Moonlight Song  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Characters: Sam, Dean  
Prompt: 49-Insatiable  
Word Count: 647  
Rating: R  
Warnings/Spoilers: None that I can think of. Implied Sam/Dean, but you can ignore it if you want.  
Summary: _Pale streaks of light wash across the dark sky, threads of silver-white, and he can feel it calling to him, a phantom song in the back of his mind, running through his veins and singing in his heart._  
My table can be found [ here](http://kali-sama.livejournal.com/143242.html)  
  
  
_The moonlight plays upon your skin  
A kiss that lingers takes me in _  
  
  
Sam whimpers when Dean runs a cool, wet cloth over his face and across the back of his neck. His skin is burning, his blood boiling, and he can’t seem to hold still, fingers twitching and wrists straining against the cool metal of the handcuffs. His skin is red and raw, from the silver and the way he keeps tugging, and he gasps when he pulls on them hard enough to open up a small cut.  
  
“Sammy, don’t.”   
  
Dean trails his fingers down Sam’s arm, the other resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Sam whimpers again and rolls his head to the side, looking out the window. Pale streaks of light wash across the dark sky, threads of silver-white, and he can feel it calling to him, a phantom song in the back of his mind, running through his veins and singing in his heart.   
  
“Sammy, breathe,” Dean whispers, and Sam moans brokenly, twisting around, leaning into his touch.  
  
“Hurts.” It’s a broken sound, barely recognisable as a word, and Dean grimaces.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“S’not-not working. I’m gonna-”  
  
“No.” Dean’s voice is cold and hard, firm as stone, and he stares hard into Sam’s darkened eyes. “You are not going to change. You’re gonna be fine. Just gotta be strong, Sammy.”   
  
Sam shifts anxiously on the bed, pressing his face into Dean’s palm and breathing in the soap-and-metal scent of his skin. He smells like safety, like comfort and home and… and _food_. His tongue flicks out before he can think about it, tasting the skin of Dean’s hand, and it’s better than he imagined, better than he could possibly have believed. He moans hungrily, lapping at that little bit of skin between thumb and forefinger. Dean lets him, doesn’t make any attempt to move away, and only murmurs a quiet warning when Sam nibbles at the flesh.  
  
“Taste so good,” he mutters, nudging Dean’s hands up until he can lick at the sensitive skin of Dean’s wrist. He can feel his pulse beating steadily against his lips and he bites lightly, earning another admonition.   
  
He jerks back with a cry, body spasming and jerking against the chains. It’s like being hit by lightning, or sucker-punched by a ghost. It’s like his mind is being fried and his skin is peeling away from his bones and it hurts it hurts it hurts.   
  
Dean’s talking to him, quiet but urgent, but the words are lost before Sam can understand them, drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears and the singing-the crying, the cajoling, the begging, the demanding-in his mind and he can’t stand it, isn’t strong enough, he has to… has to _do_ something. Do what? How to escape? Have to escape.  
  
Pain flares in his jaw, sharp and bright, and his head snaps to the side, his mind shutting down for just a second while he registers the new pain. It’s enough, that tiny second of relief, and he drags in a painful breath, staring up at Dean. He tries to say something, but nothing comes out except broken shards of noise.  
  
“You are not gonna change,” Dean snarls, and Sam just nods. Dean offers his hand again and Sam arches up to reach it, licking a wet stripe from the heel to the tip of his middle finger, the taste burning in his mouth and it’s home and safety and love. He focuses on that, on the taste and the smell and the sight of Dean, his Dean, and it’s like he’s slammed a door because the singing stops, and he no longer thinks that he’s the wrong shape, the wrong mind.  
  
Dean smiles at him, shaky and nervous, and stretches out on top of him, letting Sam nuzzle at his neck.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay, Sam,” Dean murmurs, and Sam nods, licking at the skin over Dean’s jugular. _Safety, comfort, home._  
 


End file.
